PingPong
by Cohen101
Summary: PreRent. The long version of why there’s a hole in the boho’s roof. The short version? Roger sucks at ping-pong. Roger Collins MarkMaureen.Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: So in my story, "After A Moment", a character asks about the hole in the boho's roof, and Mark replies, "Uh… the short story is that Roger sucks at ping-pong." The long story you may ask? Here it is. Cause why the hell IS there a hole in their roof? _

_Also, inspired by something called "SoL Ping-Pong" on youtube, where the movie cast sans Diggs, Menzel and Jeremine are playing ping-pong, singing Seasons of Love. Anthony, Adam, Rosario and Traci are playing ping-pong, and Adam kinda sort of… sucks. I think he hits the ball properly… once? I'm pretty sure Anthony points it out a couple of times. Rosario tackles Traci at the end of it and it's a lot of fun to watch and try to figure out what's going on. I highly recommend it. _

_Anyhow, I present:_

Ping-Pong

"I'm cold," Roger complains, pulling on another sweater over top of his already multiple layers.

I don't bother looking up from my work- Roger's always cold lately. "Maybe you should grow your hair out," I suggest. An empty can of mints collides with my head seconds later and I look up, "What?" I ask innocently. I know there's no way that long hair would go with Roger's current 'rocker' look, but who says I'm not entitled to poke a little fun at him after all the teasing I endure. "It'll trap your body heat and keep you warmer."

"And be mistake for a shaggy beast like you?" Roger scoffs in response, holding himself and trying to warm up. I touch the bangs falling into my eyes self-consciously before realizing that Roger's joking. There was some truth to his jib and I knew that it was longer now than I'd ever had it before. But Maureen seemed to like the longer hair so I didn't mind it.

"Put a hat on then," I suggest, "That's what Collins does." Although Collins doesn't need the excuse of cold weather to wear his cap. I feel Roger eyeing me but refuse to look up. The couch depresses less then a foot away from me.

"No thanks. Has it always been this fucking cold?" he demands, inching closer.

I look up from my notebook where I'd been editing one of my screenplays, and eye Roger wearily. I know where this is going. It's been the same question for the past couple mornings in a row and I gave him the same answer I'd been using, "It's winter Roger. We don't have heat- it's going to be cold for a little while longer."

"Well why the fuck do we not have heat?" was the next question and I didn't feel like rewording the next answer so I stuck with,

"Because we couldn't pay the heating bill if we wanted to keep living here."

Roger takes the notebook from my hands and discards it on the floor before claiming my lap as his own. The first time this happened I was surprised and a little creeped out, but now I've just come to terms with the fact that Roger can be a real baby when he wants to be. "Why the fuck do we live here?" he pouts, proving my point and leaning against me.

I let my hands fall to my sides. He may be sitting on me, but he can sure as hell hold himself up. "Roger, if you're just going to keep asking these questions-"

"Calm down Markie," he grins, and I realize that he was just looking to get me riled up. "A little cold never hurt anyone."

"And yet you're sitting on my lap," I remark darkly.

Roger shrugs, "You've got that body heat thing going for you, right?"

"Doesn't mean that I'm less susceptible to freeze to death than you are."

Roger turns to look at me and I can tell he's wondering if I was being serious or not. My resolve to poke fun at him dissolves because I realize that he'd probably give up a blanket or something if I asked for it. "Mark-" he starts, letting me know that I'm on the right track but I interrupt him,

"I was kidding Roger," I reassure, grinning at him.

He narrows his eyes, "Well aren't you just an optimistic albino Eskimo today?"

"Why is Mark an Eskimo?" Collins asks from the door, entering the loft just in time to catch Roger's sentence. I groan,

"You know, I find it sad that anytime someone says 'albino', everyone automatically assumes me."

Collins laughs for a second. "Well, was Roger talking about you?" he asks.

"Yeah," I mumble miserably. Collins flicks a piece of what was once food at me,

"Then shut your white punk ass up. Gentlemen," he says, suddenly giddy. He heads towards the door and both Roger and I know there's something behind it. Collins has a soft spot for theatrics. "I'd like to take this moment and present to you, the savior of the loft, the fashion statement of Alphabet City, the one, the only-"

"Collins, why the fuck do you have a trash can?" Roger asks, interrupting Collins' presentation.

"Because Roger," he says, pulling the can into the center of the room completely unfazed by Rogers disgust, "Every day for the past week and a half you've been complaining about the cold and if you don't stop soon, Mark and I are going to hafta beat you with a parka."

I laughed at the image in my head and shove Roger off me so I can get up and look more closely at the can.

"So you got me a garbage can?" Roger asks doubtfully, sitting abandoned on the couch. "What are you going to do, stuff me in it?"

Looking into the garbage can, I can see a couple objects that look curiously like… "Collins, is that firewood?" I ask slowly.

"Maybe," Collins smirks and I hear Roger getting up from the couch and feel him nudging me aside to get his own look. He looks up, grinning,

"Are you doing what I think you're doing?"

Roger and Collins are giving one another those shit-eating grins that I know spells bad news for me and everyone within a thirty-foot radius of them.

Collins pulls out a lighter and wiggles his eyebrows, "Anyone here been in boy scouts?"

"Collins!" I cry, trying to snatch the lighter away from him, but he moves before I can get to it. "We can't just start a fire!" I protest.

This isn't like one of the crazy schemes Roger and Collins normally cook up, which results in the creation of a 100 foot extension cord, or even the firing of homemade fireworks off the roof- this was… well, dangerous. And not just to ourselves, but to the other people living in the building.

It was like, actually, dangerous.

I could see the two of them burning down the building because of this.

Accidentally, of course.

Apparently though, my concerns don't count for much as Collins points to the can and says, "Yeah. But we've got a garbage can."

I wait for something more substantial than 'we've got a garbage can' but nothing comes. "SO?!" I almost screech. My worries draw a grin from Roger and a laugh from Collins.

Yeah, I thought, they were definitely going to burn the building down this time.

"Look," Collins starts after catching his breath. I glare at him. "You want Roger to shut the hell up or not?"

"Yeah man," Roger pips up, "I can get pretty annoying."

And that's something I can't really argue with at the moment. "Yeah, but…" I look at their two faces, and wonder if what I say will actually matter to them. "I don't know…"

Ten minutes later I shred newspaper and wonder how the hell I manage to get myself into these kinds of situations.

Fifteen minutes later Collins and Roger disappear for something with more 'ompff'.

Twenty minutes after that Collins and Roger return with a small can of gasoline, giggling like maniacs.

Five minutes later I'm downstairs asking to call the fire department from the telephone of the nice-girl-who-must-have-just-moved-in, wondering once again, how the hell I managed to get myself into these situations.

- - - - -

Roger and Collins stand at my shoulders on the opposite side of the street, across from the cold. We're hunched against the cold because it's fucking freezing. I look up and watch the smoke that's currently snaking out from the open fire escape window.

"I told you this was a stupid idea," I mutter between them.

Collins and Roger nod along but Roger says, "But it was fucking cool," while Collins says,

"A little fire never hurt anyone," and I know that their hearts aren't really into agreeing with me.

I don't say anything because I'm honestly not sure if I'm mad at them or if I just find the entire thing a little bit funny.

"When do you suppose we can go back in?" Roger asks after a minute and I assume the question is directed to me, because I'm the one who called the fire department. This, in Roger-logic, means I have all the answers to all his fire related questions.

I shrug. "The fire people said that once the fire went out it would take a while for the smoke to air out. Once there's no smoke we can go back in without worrying about CO2 poisoning." Roger nods along like what I've just said is the most normal thing in the world to say; like its common sense. I drop down to the curb, shoving my hands deeply into my pockets, shivering and wondering why I chose to live like this. "You know, it was warmer in the loft than it is here," I muttered bitterly and Roger plops down next to me,

"Yeah, but now we know not to try and start first with cases of gasoline," he says optimistically.

I glare at him. "We knew that before Roger."

"Aw, lighten up Mark…" Collins grins at his own stupid pun, and I can't believe I understand it. He drops to the other side of me, "At least we didn't go up in flames."

I don't understand where their optimism comes from.

Apparently smoke pouring out of our loft wasn't cause for worry. "Roger almost lost his eyebrows and what little hair he has," I point out and Collins shrugs,

"Roger deserves to lose his hair for sticking his face over top of the can," he says, expressing that cynicism I'm looking for.

Roger tires to hit Collins and of course I get caught in the crossfire that ensues.

"Oh look, Maureen," Roger points out randomly. I uncover my head to see that Maureen's just turned the corner of the street and is heading to the front door of the building. She's holding a bag in her hands and fixing her hair with the other. Her lips are moving and I'm pretty sure she's mumbling to herself. The three of us stay silent while Maureen walks past us without so much as a first glance, opens the door and disappears into the stairwell.

"Think she'll be mad?" I ask. I watch the door and count down to when Maureen bursts back through it.

"Nah, why would she-"

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

"Maybe," Roger changes his answer quickly. The door to the building flies open and Maureen scans the street wildly before she spots us.

"You," she utters. It's the kind of forlorn uttering that is usually preceded by a serious ass kicking.

I can't help but squirm, and try to defend myself, "I didn't do anything!"

"Every time these morons come up with some godforsaken plan to do heavens knows what, you're always sitting there with them at the end of it with a burning building behind you saying, 'I didn't do anything!'. Grow a fucking backbone and actually _don't do anything _for once," Maureen screams. She continues on, but about halfway through the speech I realize that today I'm not in the mood for any Maureen bullshit. Roger and Collins have already worn me out enough.

"Mark!"

I sigh and Roger inches away from me. "Whatever Maureen," I say tiredly, "Quit being so dramatic and come sit with us."

I can see Collins eyes widen from my peripherals and Roger noticeably shifts away from me with a side-long look. Maureen glares at me for a couple more seconds but I don't cave and soon she's marching over to me. Roger winces and I know Collins is getting ready to pull a clawing Maureen off me; I finally start wondering if it's the greatest idea to be mouthing off to Maureen when she's in such an obviously bad mood, but to my complete surprise Maureen plops down on my lap.

A look at the space Roger has created between us by me is enough to set her off again. "You can fuck yourself tonight if you think I'm going to sit on the ground," she hisses before she crosses her arms and huddles into me, "It's fucking cold."

I timidly wrap my arms around Maureen's body, wondering how it was I'd escaped bodily harm. Between Roger and Collins' pyromania and Maureen's moodiness, it was a miracle I was still alive.

"You know," Roger says after returning to my side, "If we kept the window open in the first place, I don't think the smoke would build up so much."

"Yeah, but if the window's open it'd be even colder inside and the fire wouldn't be as effective."

"What the hell are you two goons talking about?" Maureen demands from where she's snuggled into my shoulder.

"Collins took a trash can off the street and we tried to build a fire in it," I explain and Collins looks at the smoke spilling out of the window thoughtfully,

"You know, there's no reason why we couldn't use it as a stove too…"

"Yeah," Roger agrees after a beat, "Like… a wood burning stove."

I groan and pull Maureen closer to me. "Help me," I whisper through her hair, into her ear and she smiles at me, kissing me sweetly.

"Just wait till tonight," she promises, and suddenly I have another reason for my cynicism of fires.

**A/N: Leave a review!!! =)**


	2. Chapter 2

"Maureen, I know you're my girlfriend, and I know you want to cook for me, but this, this is what qualifies as a bad idea," I insisted, hovering behind Maureen as she throws a couple pieces of our wall into the already slightly smoking trash can. Maureen cooking is a bad idea period. Pairing her cooking with the burning trash experience we had the other day is an even worse idea.

Maureen finally turns to me after I whine some more, a spoon in her hand and her hands on her hips. "Roger said we could use it as a stove." She points to the can with her spoon, "Look, he even wrote 'stove' on it," she says like it's the most convincing argument in the world.

Instead of point out directly how spacious her argument is I say, "If I spray-paint 'idiot' on his head will you believe that he's an idiot and trust me when I say that this is a bad idea?"

"I can hear you, you albino freak!" Roger calls from the kitchen, where him and Collins are huddled together in a vain attempt to hide a cupcake from me. The fact that I know it's a cupcake proves how futile their efforts are, and even though I've already pointed out their lack of discretion a couple times they still refuse to admit that they've been found. They're still trying to convince me that they're doing 'nothing'.

Even if I didn't know what they were doing I wouldn't accept that answer.

Collins and Roger are never up to 'nothing'.

Collins and Roger should never be trusted when they say they are up to 'nothing'.

I'm suddenly very worried what Collins and Roger _are _up to.

"If you smoke us out of the loft again I'm not going to be happy," I warn Maureen, trying to get a better look at the kitchen while still keeping an eye on the trash can. Roger nudges Collins and they both glare at me until I back away. Maureen pouts,

"It's your birthday baby- you have to be happy."

"Well I'm not," I mutter, folding my arms and getting ready to play the part of a spoiled kid who hasn't gotten that bike he wanted. Roger is giggling to himself and Collins looks over at me, grinning. "What the hell are you grinning at?" I demand. Roger giggles harder and I swear that he's cracked open the Stoli without me noticing.

"Collins and I got you a birthday present," Roger manages to get out.

I roll my eyes. "I know." The cupcake isn't much of a present, but I know that they got up early to go get it before I woke up, so it means a lot more to me than it really should.

Roger sobers up for a minute. I can see the gears turning in his head as he tires to figure out how I know. "It's not the cupcake," he says bluntly and Collins promptly smacks his head. "Ow! What the fuck Tom?" he hisses.

"There _is _no cupcake," Collins reminds. The suggestive tone in his voice suggests otherwise. Maureen darts behind him but I'm more concerned with the fact that they got me something other than the cupcake.

Which means that it's either going to be stolen or that it's going to scar me for the rest of my life. "Oh God," I moan, images of last years present flashing through my mind. I'm almost too afraid to ask. "What is it?"

"It's up on the roof," Collins says and Roger starts giggling once again.

I eye them suspiciously, "What the hell did you two do?"

Before Roger can answer me Maureen pushes past them with a cupcake in her hands, a single candle burning from the middle. I suddenly understand the Rogers hysterics and the hush-hush as the candle is modeled to resemble a… certain male organ.

I'm forced to sit down and listen to a couple renditions of 'Happy Birthday' before Maureen hands me the cupcake and allows me to blow out the candle. Roger is still singing his own personalized and much more devious version of the song while I pull out the candle, refusing to suck the icing off it, despite their urgings.

I honestly don't understand why they think I would in the first place.

"What did you wish for?" Maureen asks eagerly, sitting beside me on the couch and hanging off my arm.

"Normal friends," I respond dryly and everyone laughs but me. "You all seem to think I'm joking," I mutter under my breath, taking the cupcake and doing my best to split it into four equal pieces. Collins sits down on the armrest of the couch with his feet beside my lap and Roger finally calms down enough to settle on the coffee table.

I'm still convinced that he's already had a couple shots of Stoli. Roger maintains that a birthday (or any celebration for that matter) is an occasion to drink, and practices his belief constantly, whether or not he personally knows the person celebrating. The Life Café has made signs that prohibit the loud announcing of special days because of him. Which didn't really matter, because Collins swiped them after a couple days and 'modified' them. We were banned from the Life for a week, even though they didn't have any real evidence.

I smile from the memory. "Thanks you guys," I say, at that moment loving my life and knowing exactly why. I hold out a piece of cupcake for Collins, "Here."

"Nah Mark," he smiles, waving it away, "That's yours!"

"Well I want to share it," I insist, trying to force the crumbling cake into his hand. Roger leans across the space between couch and table, taking the cupcake from me,

"I'm not going to argue with that," he shrugs, smelling it and taking a small nibble.

There's a certain amount of disapproval in Maureen's voice as she says, "Of course you aren't Roger."

Roger sticks his blackened tongue out at her and then addresses me, "I'll have Maureen's piece if she doesn't want it," he offers, taking a lick of the icing.

"Everyone's getting some," I say firmly, offering another piece to Collins, who accepts it this time.

"Good thing Benny's over at Muffy's," Roger says, watching in fascination as Maureen eats her share from my fingers.

"Alison," I correct absently, also fascinated with Maureen eating, but more so with the feel of her tongue on my fingertips, which I know she's doing on purpose to get me all hot and bothered.

"Whatever," Roger mutters but I can feel Maureen getting to me. At least I know she'll keep it PG in front of company. Well, 14A if we're talking about the company being Roger and Collins. There's a lot to be said about being a couple and living in a loft with only one actual bedroom that isn't yours.

For a minute or so we savor our little experiences with chocolate delight, and me, with Maureen's expertise in the more intimate aspects of life. I'm in a happy bubble of delight, surrounded by friends and getting a preview of what Maureen promises to be a very, very mind blowing night when Collins interrupts with,

"What's that burning smell?"

The top two feet of the loft have filled with smoke that is coming from the trash can left unattended in the middle of the room. "MAUREEN!" I yell, startling her and Roger, who falls off his coffee table.

"Where's the fire?" he asks sarcastically after he realizes that no one's been shot and I may have overreacted just a bit.

"Behind you," Collins mutters and Roger turns to look as I haul Maureen up to her feet beside me.

"Fuck!" I yell, my peaceful, comfortable moment ruined. "Damn it," I yank Collins up, more pissed that no one else seems as remotely worried as I am than the fact it's the third time in two days that we've been smoked out of our home. Apparently Roger hadn't learned that you didn't start fires with gasoline on the first go. "Go open the window," I order Maureen, who surprisingly obeys.

"Aw, Markie," Roger whines from the floor, "It's going to be fucking cold again!"

I yank him up to his feet as well, now certain he's a little tipsy from the alcohol I can smell in his breath. "We'll close it when the fire dies down," I say to pacify him, wondering what the hell was on the wood we used to feed the fire. And by default, what the hell was on our walls. Something about hard wood and soft wood comes back to me but I don't say anything because I know Roger will start giggling and begin making inappropriate jokes and comments the second the words leave my mouth.

"Where are we going?" Roger asks as I steer him out the door and to the right. Maureen is right behind me and Collins is closing the loft door so that the smoke doesn't enter the building. After yesterday's incident I'm convinced that if we did indeed burn down our loft, all others in the steel building would remain unaffected.

"Mark, where are you going?" Roger demands, starting to fight with my grip. I stop pushing him and he turns to me, "Upstairs Mark," he says.

"Why would we go upstairs?" I ask and he starts to push me, just like I had pushed him.

"Present Mark, present," Roger reminds and our little train changes direction as Collins heads up the expedition to the roof.

It's even colder on the roof than I would have thought humanely possible, and Roger offers me his coat when he sees me shiver. "I'm warm!" he exclaims and it takes the collective effort of both me and Collins to wrestle him back into it the damn thing because he's not wearing anything underneath. Maureen laughs for five minutes straight until I manage to tug the zipper up and snap the buttons on the collar of it in place while Collins holds him down.

"Kinky Mark," Roger winks at me, giggling and I have an urge to slap him. I don't though, because that would probably bring on a whole tidal wave of his 'kinky sex' jokes.

"Who let Roger near the Stoli?" I demand as Roger latches onto my arm and refuses to let go. "Collins!" I accuse as I try to shake him off but he growls at me. I look down at him. "What. The. Fuck?" I ask him and he smiles and I have to admit, at that moment, I can see why there're always girls clambering over themselves to get to him. I notice Maureen eyeing him with a hint of jealousy and smack him on the top of his head, "Bad Roger," I scold, "Bad. Very bad."

Roger whines.

Maureen latches onto my other arm and a tug-of-war ensues between her and Roger with me as the rope.

Collins' has lit a joint in the miniscule amount of time there was between getting Roger back in his coat and my hitting his head.

Have I said before how not-normal my friends are?

Collins notices my gaze and offers his joint. "Want one?"

I shake my head, my hands already literally full. "Ow!" I protest, as my neck snaps one way and then the other. Collins has apparently grasped the seriousness of the situation because he grabs the back of Roger's jacket and yanks him back,

"You're hurting the little man," he points out. As much as I resent the nick name 'little man', I find myself underneath Maureen and in no position to voice said resentment.

Maureen positions her lower half between my legs and grins, trailing her hands suggestively down my chest. "Hey sexy," she winks, her wicked grin intensifying. She bends down to kiss me and I can feel my cords beginning to get a little tight.

Then she has to go and stick her hands under my shirt and I scream bloody murder into her alcohol tainted mouth because they're fucking _cold._

Maureen promptly slaps me after she's collected enough to do so.

I rub my cheek but don't complain because, hell, even I feel I sort of deserved it. "Is everyone drunk or high but me?" I demand and Maureen giggles, lightly tracing her fingernail along what I'm sure is mark on my cheek. It tickles more than anything and I start squirming to get out from under her.

"Of course not Markie," she winks but I know she's lying. I just don't understand how it happened, when she had the time and how I couldn't have noticed before now.

Collins pulls Maureen off of me. "Come'on," he takes my hand and pulls me to my feet, "You still need to get your present."

By now I've forgotten all about the present, and temporarily forget about it once again as I slap Roger's hands away from the zipper of his coat.

"I'm too hot!" Roger insists, glaring at me.

I fold my arms and glare right back at him, "Too fucking bad. It's my birthday." This single proclamation makes me King of the loft and Roger drops his itching hands.

"Bastard," he mumbles, tugging at the buttoned collar but faithfully keeping his fingers away from unclasping it.

Before I can get an insult out Collins is redirecting my attention for the umpteenth time, "Present Mark. Jeez, focus a little!"

I look around the roof and see nothing but white. I voice my observations and Roger pelts me with a snowball before disappearing behind a section of roof. When he appears again he's dragging something behind him that looks a lot like…

"Is that…" I trail off. I'm not sure whether to once again question the sanity of my friends or laugh my ass off.

I figure since I've already deemed my friends clinically insane, I laugh. Hard. And for a long time. So long that there are tears frozen onto the inside of my glasses, my face is even redder than it was from the cold and I'm doubled over, holding my stomach because it hurts to move or breathe.

"I thought he didn't drink or smoke anything," I hear Maureen comment at one point. Collins responded with something, and Maureen 'oh'-ed about it, but I was the only one laughing.

Apparently they don't find anything amusing about this. _They _don't find anything amusing about this. My crazy friends who think making fires indoors with only a trashcan is a good idea. My friends who gave me a penis candle for my birthday cupcake. My friends- - the insane- - don't find the ping-pong table Roger pulled out of hiding, the least bit amusing.

This train of thought makes me laugh even harder.

"I thought it was a good gift," Roger said grudgingly and I know if I was able to look up I'd see him with his hands shoved into his pockets, sulking.

And I want to say that it was a good present, that I'm laughing because it's so perfect, so… us, but I can't.

I'm laughing too hard.

"Can a person laugh that long?" I hear Maureen ask a little while later.

Roger responds with, "Who fucking cares," still in a sulk, and Collins says,

"He's bound to run out of air soon…"

When I finally compose myself enough to look up, Roger kicks a sizable portion of snow at my face. "Hey!" I protest and he glares at me. "What?" I demand but he's giving me the cold shoulder and won't talk to me. "Guys?" I ask. I push myself onto my feet and see that Maureen and Collins are giving me the exact same looks as Roger. "What?" I ask, confused and a little indignant.

What, so Roger and Collins can be pyromaniac, and the second I have a laughing fit there's something wrong?

"Guys, I love it," I say, but they don't look like they believe me. "Seriously! Seriously. Guys… Guys?"

They're really starting to worry me. Other than Roger kicking snow at me, neither of them has moved whatsoever.

"Guys?" I ask again, wishing there was some kind of breeze so I could see if their hair moved or if I've somehow stopped time. "Look, I'm sorry, but you have to admit it's really funny that…" I trail off. I turn around to Collins, who's bound to be the most rational. "Collins, I didn't- what the-"

Roger's arms are clamped around my shoulders and I'm falling to the ground with him on top of me. "Roger!" I scream, confused, scared, frustrated and wondering if I'm going to join the insane-rank of my friends.

"We were just messing with you boy," Collins grins, pulling Roger off me and once again giving me a hand up.

"Ha ha," I laugh dryly, "Very funny."

"I thought it was," Maureen giggles, wrapping her arms around me and landing a sloppy kiss on my cheek. I wipe it away before her saliva has a chance to freeze to my cheek.

"Come play with me," Roger demands, throwing himself dramatically between me and Maureen and forcing us apart with a chop of his arms.

"Roger, I'm not sure-"

"Shut the fuck up Markie," he sing-songs, sobering up. He grabs the sleeve of my jacket and Collins thrusts a ping-pong paddle into my hands as me and Roger pas s him. It takes a second for the paddle to register in my fingers and I look over to Collins, attempting to figure out were the hell it'd come from.

Collins grins at me and wiggles his eyebrows, "Make us proud Snowflake!" he shouts and I scowl at him until Roger almost gives me whiplash.

"You're on that side Mark," he instructs, stopping and shoving me so quickly I stumble and fall into the table; for a moment I imagine my kidney exploding from the impact, and the air leaves my chest.

Roger takes a second from his extraneous warm-up on the other side of the table to stare at me. "You okay Mark?" he asks, remarkably serious.

I nod and peel myself off the shiny green surface. "Fine," I breathe and Roger grins,

"Good, 'cause you're gonna get your ass kicked! Ball!" he shouts.

First of all, A, I'm not entirely sure how Roger manages to catch the tiny white ball, which just happens to blend in perfectly with the snowy surroundings, and second of all, B, I really want to know where the heck Collins is hiding all this stuff. And let's throw in C, while we're at it: how the hell did they get a ping-pong table _up_ here?

"You ready to meet your maker?" Roger taunts and I raise an eyebrow, but refrain from responding. I'm not sure if Roger's sober or drunk, but it's certainly easier to just let him have his way, either way.

Holding up the ball, Roger closes one eye- aiming, I assume, and then lets it drop to the table. He lets it come back up… and takes a whack at it.

And he misses.

I can't say I'm surprised.

"You gotta hit the ball, Roger," Collins comments from the side and I nod,

"Hitting the ball would be nice," I agree.

"Shut the fuck up," Roger growls in response, before winding up to take another hit. The same process is repeated.

He misses.

Again, I'm not surprised.

I feel the tell-tale signs of a grin.

"Shut the fuck up Mark," he growls even though I haven't said anything and I start a full-out grin. I hear Maureen laughing with Collins. Roger gets ready, and with a comically intense look of concentration I've never seen before, he finally manages to hit the sucker. "Take that!" he yells and I watch it hit his side of the table and then promptly bounce off and into the snow. "Damnit!" he screams in frustration.

"Wow," I say, watching him retrieve the ball, "Roger can't play at all..."

He lines himself up, "Let me try again," he mutters.

I almost feel bad for him when the ball makes it over the net, but misses the table. Picking it up, I hit it easily to his side, and he hits it back, grinning.

It's a miracle.

"Fuck ye-" His celebration gets cut short when, after I've hit it to him, he hits it and it goes flying off into the whiteness. Maureen moves to go find it among the mass of snow and I watch the spectacle that Roger was becoming.

"Fuck!" he yells grabbing his head with his hands and acting, honestly, like the world's literally ending. "I hate this game," he proclaims in this position, very melodramatically, "And I hate the world!"

"Some people just suck at stuff," Maureen stats, shrugging as she hands me the ball. It's cold, and I really don't want to be holding it for much longer.

"You ready Roger?" I ask and he shakes his head. "What?"

"This time you have to at least try for it," he says, "Dive for it if you have to."

He's so serious I can't say no. I hit the light ball to him gently, getting ready to spring into action, fully committed to dive at it if need be.

Need was be.

I was also diving to my right; which wouldn't have ordinarily mattered, but Roger had placed the ping-pong table in such a position that it was right beside the glass portion of our roof, which also coincidently happened to be to my right.

Needless to say, I dove into the glass roofing- almost straight through it in fact.

I felt the glass break away under me, and the only thing that kept me on the right side of it was the metal reinforcements between the panes of glass, and Collins' strong hand hauling me back onto the rooftop. "Jesus Mark," he hisses, but I can see the relief and worry in his eyes, "Never do that again boy."

I defend myself with, "It was Roger's fault!"

I'm not really sure why I'm more shaken up than I am. I mean, I did almost plummet to my death- or at the very least, very painful recovery- seconds ago.

It probably just hasn't hit me fully yet.

And it's probably because things are starting to get fuzzy and I'm almost positive that there was an extra something in the cupcake they'd gotten me that definitely wasn't powdered sugar.

Because I did plummet. To my death. Almost. Or did I?

"Guys," I say, trying to keep a straight face, but it's almost impossible, "What the fuck'd you do to me?"

"Markie's gonna have fun TO-NIGHT!" Maureen screams, and I grin in that lazy, I-have-not-a-care-in-the-world-and-I'm-totally-gonna-let-my-friends-take-care-of-me-tonight-because-damnit-I-deserve-it, kind of way.

I remember I did have a lot of fun.

I just don't remember exactly what that fun entailed.

There was a hole in the glass the next morning though, so I knew I remembered that part- and it was also warm inside the loft for the first time in a long time.

All in all, I think everything worked out just fine.


End file.
